


Like a Feather

by RuralJuror10



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Post Season 2 Finale, Season 3 AU, Soft Villanelle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22119052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuralJuror10/pseuds/RuralJuror10
Summary: After the events of season 2 ep 8, Villanelle has some regrets and does something about it.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 24
Kudos: 92





	1. Regrets

Only now, far away from Eve, could Villanelle get some perspective. 

She had always prided herself on being able to be the objective judge, the one on the outside of things whose mind wasn’t clouded by the irrationalism that emotion could bring. She thought of herself as a marble statue--beautiful, immovable, imposing--and wholly unaffected by the feelings that swayed everyone else. She thought of other people as feathers; fragile, crushable, whisps blown about by the slightest breeze. All of them at the mercy of their own emotional weather. 

Now, though. Sitting alone in a hotel room with nowhere to go, no one to talk to … she had had plenty of time to weigh the words that were spoken in the ruins. To see that in fact, she had not been that marble statue. Not lately. No, she had been more like a feather, just like everyone else. 

It was a shocking realization. Konstanin had said that Eve made her weak, which wasn’t exactly true. Her appetite for the kill had not diminished; she still felt the usual hum of contentment in her veins as she snuffed out a life. True, she had been willing to do this very boring non-killing work--at Eve’s request, of course--but in her mind that wasn’t weakness. It was branching out. Diversifying her resume. Proving that she was more than just an assassin.

But laying on this hotel bed, the TV droning on in the background, Villanelle could acknowledge that what she desired with Eve had perhaps made her a _bit_ less objective. 

OK, a _lot_ less objective. 

And then Konstantin had warned her that she couldn’t kill her way out of Rome if things went sideways. With such a serious face he had said some magical words: “If something happens--you and Eve, you are on your own.” 

_If something happens, you and Eve are on your own._

Since that moment, his words had echoed in her head, bounced around in her brain so much that there weren’t a lot of other thoughts to compete. 

If something happens.  
You and Eve.  
Are on your own.

She’d recited it to herself over and over again, like the stanza of a poem. 

And so she knew immediately that something _would_ have to happen. She would need to _make_ the something happen. She had become so fixated on this, on that outcome Konstanin had predicted, on what would happen next-- _you and Eve are on your own_ \--that she could admit that perhaps she had lost some of her objectivity. She was no longer the immovable statue, unphased by the emotion swirling around her. She had become, for a time, like anyone else: ruled by emotions. Emotions she was not supposed to be able to have, or so she had been told. 

There was no formal plan. She felt in her bones that the opportunity to jam a stick in the wheels of the whole operation would present itself. And it had, nearly on a silver platter, when Aaron Peel showed her Raymond’s photo. It wasn’t even hard work from there. She only had to speak the safe word and summon Eve to save her. Which she did, almost immediately and in true Eve fashion: wearing a maid’s uniform and brandishing a letter opener, walking straight into the danger like the beautiful, brave dumbass she could sometimes be. 

Villanelle smiled at the memory. _God, this woman would not survive long in that job, left to her own devices._

As soon as Eve stumbled through that door, Villanelle had seen the situation from all angles, like a professional pool player. How each ball would drop into its pocket. She knew there was no way to preserve the operation, and immediately dropped the need to sustain her Billie persona from the equation. She knew Aaron would have to die. His offer, which she had pretended to seriously consider for a moment, was of no real interest to her. His money, and the unbelievable access it bought, was the only interesting thing about him. 

Throat slit, moving on. She hadn’t been sure what the next step was from there. The mission had failed, obviously, but now what? Avoid Raymond, and what else? She’d tried to calm a panicked Eve down, tried to point out that nothing really mattered if the mission had crashed and burned, hoped they could just head back to London together … but she could see now that they had each had different interpretations of what Aaron’s death meant. 

For Villanelle, the failed mission was no more or no less pointless than a successful mission would have been. Who cared if it failed? Eve had rushed straight into danger alone to come and save her. That was the point of all of it, that they were bound to one another in such a significant way that Eve would move so quickly to her side.

But for Eve, Villanelle mused … Eve had been concerned about preserving her own precarious status quo. Eve was so panicked about salvaging something from the mission because of her job, and maybe because she had had some vision of the future too. A future where she and Villanelle worked together. The MI6 agent and the psychopath, solving crimes as a team -- the kind of unlikely pairing fit for a TV show. “That would be a shit TV show,” Villanelle murmured out loud. She absently twisted a lock of hair around her finger, thinking. 

Perhaps she wasn’t the only one who had been daydreaming about their future together. Eve’s vision just wasn’t big enough.  
Well, OK, it was a little bit sexy, if she took into account the stakeouts, late night meals, and disguises. But even still--it was no moving halfway around the world to live in a secluded cabin in the wilderness.

Villanelle sighed. She had to admit that she hadn’t been thinking at all about what Eve had in mind. She had assumed that once she presented her vision of the future that Eve would see its beauty and simply go along with it. But when had she ever known Eve to do what was expected of her, or to do what others wanted her to do? 

As a rule she didn’t like to admit to mistakes, but … she supposed that this might qualify as one. 

From there the pieces had come together so well it was as if she had planned it all out beforehand. Carolyn, it turned out, was using them. Then Eve chose Villanelle over her job. Eve waited for her, just as Villanelle had told Konstanin that she would. And then stupid Raymond popped up, with his dumb pudding face and cartoonish weapon choice. An axe, _really_? Truly the worst. She had not been 100% certain that Eve was behind one of the doors, but still … something in her blood had started buzzing. _Yes. She’s here._ So when Raymond got the better of her and his fat hands had wrapped around her throat, she was unconcerned. Eve will save me, she thought. It will be perfect.

She truly did forget, for a moment, the small gun tucked in her waistband. It was so tiny, like a toy. But she was a professional, after all, and that moment didn’t last long. _Just wait a second,_ she’d told herself as Raymond tried to squeeze the breath out of her. Another second, another … and there was Eve. A little sneakier than her earlier entrance with Aaron, thankfully. She’d picked up the damn axe, the size of it dwarfing her frame, and hesitated behind Raymond. 

OK, this was truly where she could admit she had messed up. Maybe. In hindsight, a misstep. But it was so pure, such a perfect opportunity for Eve to experience a kill. Raymond was truly a terrible person, and he was threatening both of their lives. He needed to die. Eve, she reasoned, needed to kill. There was a weapon laying right there. It was the perfect setup, and it had happened so naturally.

She frowned, remembering. She supposed ... she could see that she had let her desire for Eve to be the same as her blind her to the reality of the situation. Eve was not ready. The means had been too gruesome. An axe was like, advanced level stuff. Her emotions were already too heightened from the mission going so spectacularly awry. It wasn’t the time, she could see that now, but -- in the moment, she had thought, _if Eve kills him then she’s burned the last bridge back to her old life. She can’t go back to boring old normal after this. She will see she belongs with me._ It had seemed like the best possible outcome. And so she told Eve to do it. 

Villanelle was not someone who ever had regrets, about anything. As she understood it, regret was a product of guilt, or shame, a result of feeling bad about something you did. She never felt any of that, not even a glimmer of it.

But. She shook her head in disbelief, turning over onto her stomach and closing her eyes. She thought suddenly of Aaron Peel, the way he had had to have everything exactly the way he wanted, so precise about every little detail. “It has to be perfect,” he’d said. He didn’t care about what anyone else wanted or liked. She recalled having to keep her face perfectly blank while he posed her like a painting and insisted she stay still when he left the room. She’d wanted to roll her eyes so hard at him, flip him off with both hands before crushing his windpipe. What an absolute dick. 

An unwelcome thought entered her brain: hadn’t she done something similar to Eve? “You’re ruining the moment,” she remembered saying in the ruins, after Eve spotted the gun and understood what had happened. How much different was she than Aaron, posing Eve the way she’d like her to be, wanting to manipulate the path she had to take, making sure that path led only to her? 

Eve had trusted her. She’d chosen her. But she refused to be controlled by her. 

Villanelle paused. She knew what she felt for Eve was love, because in spite of a couple of near misses, they hadn’t so much as kissed. She had never spent this much time thinking about someone before getting them into bed in her life. Even with Anna, the seduction process didn’t take all that long. Of course, the challenge of making the conquest of a woman who thought herself straight was undeniably helpful to her patience. She could acknowledge that. But still -- this was a very big change for her. Sex had always been one of her few escapes, a way to turn off her brain for a bit and sink into physical pleasure. Not that she’d kept celibate during her long pursuit, of course...but with anyone else, she would have gotten bored and moved on before now. 

“Feelings are bullshit,” she mumbled. She’d been thinking about all of this for what felt like forever. Eve had taken up way too much of her brain, caused her to act irrationally, sloppily. She had shed tears over her. Was this how the mediocres of the world lived _all the time_? Always at the mercy of the people who they loved? 

Her phone buzzed, and she snatched it up quickly. It was a text message from Harrod’s about a shoe sale. She texted back, “Shove your sale up your arse,” hit Send, and threw the phone back down. For a second she had forgotten that there was no one who would be texting her. No reason for Konstanin to reach out, and definitely no reason for Eve. The knowledge of this felt like a punch in the gut which stole the air in her lungs for a second, followed by a feeling of rage at the fact that she felt something about it.  


_Am I broken now? Is this what it’s like to be “normal”?_

From an early age she had learned to mimic the emotional responses of others. She had a gift for it, the ability to make her face look sad, or delighted, or surprised, depending on what the situation called for. She watched faces and body movements--hunched shoulders, fluttering hands, half smiles--the smallest of gestures were what she needed to make her own responses more believable. 

And yet, she had on more than one occasion in the past months she had found herself crying over Eve. Crying! There was no one to fake the emotion for, unless it had been herself she was trying to convince. Was it? Did she have a need to think herself capable of feeling things? Had it been just one more way of playacting what she’d seen others do? 

"I don't think so," she said out loud, and sighed. "What is wrong with me?" 

She snatched her phone up again and typed “can psychopaths develop feelings” into the search bar. “Hmm,” she murmured, scrolling through the first article that popped up--a paper from Yale titled “Psychopaths have feelings: can they learn how to use them?”. She read out loud, “The reason psychopaths are a problem is not because they don’t feel but because they have difficulty effectively processing information. They’re not cold-blooded; they’re simply awful at multitasking.”

“Rude,” she said. “I’m excellent at multitasking.” And then, in the last paragraph of the article, it spoke of the researchers creating a training in the form of a game played one hour a day for six weeks that was meant to help psychopaths integrate their emotions. Sounds so boring, she thought. But then the next sentence stated that the psychopaths had showed improvement after completing the training. 

_What if there was a way to be different?_ Villanelle narrowed her eyes and chewed on her lip. She had no desire to change who she was; she considered herself vastly superior to pretty much everyone. She _liked_ being a marble statue.

However.

She allowed herself to conjure up the image of Eve’s beautiful stunned face among the ruins, after she comprehended what it meant that Villanelle had had a gun all along. She thought of Eve’s response when she told her she loved her. “You don’t know what that is.” And, “I’m sorry to disappoint,” as she turned and walked away. She thought of Aaron Peel, all alone in his big empty house with only death and control to keep him going. 

She considered the fact that somehow she was already slowly changing into a person she didn’t really recognize, and that as much as she would like to, cutting out the parts of her that had softened into vulnerable flesh didn’t sound all that appealing. Maybe … maybe she would be willing to entertain the idea of changing … for Eve. Eve, who she had tracked down to a hospital in Rome, recovering from her wound and probably dreaming up elaborate ways to kill Villanelle. Or maybe, resolving never to think of her again.

Villanelle closed her eyes for a moment. Just for a second or two, because there wasn't too much more to consider, really. Taking a breath, she picked up her phone, typed “nearest international airport to Yale” into the search bar, and tapped Go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The article referenced and quoted is at https://modlab.yale.edu/news/psychopaths-have-feelings-can-they-learn-how-use-them-aeon
> 
> This was mainly an exercise to trick myself into writing again. Feedback very much appreciated.


	2. Warriors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villanelle does some work on herself, will it result in anything changing? Meanwhile, post-getting shot Eve isn't doing so great. A short chapter to progress the story.

“Three weeks of this already, and I don’t understand how you can measure progress. I think maybe this whole thing is bullshit?”

The researcher marked something on her clipboard before looking up at Villanelle. “We took a baseline before you started the training. We’ll be able to measure your progress, don’t worry.”

Villanelle stopped tapping at the keyboard in front of her and swiveled slowly to face the woman. She cocked her head and squinted, giving the researcher an appraising once-over. The woman’s name was Claire, and she was wearing a grad school uniform-- a shapeless grey cardigan over a t-shirt and jeans. Bad shoes. Villanelle kept staring at Claire until she grew visibly uncomfortable, suddenly becoming very interested in what was on the paper in front of her. Finally Villanelle spoke: “How long have you been working on this study, Claire?”

Reluctantly, Claire dragged her eyes back up to meet Villanelle’s. “I’m … newer to the program … so, this is also my third week. Like you.” 

Villanelle raised her eyebrows and widened her eyes. “So I’m your first psychopath?”

“Oh, I -- we don’t refer to you as that.”

Villanelle smirked. “First … test subject, then?”

Claire nodded. “For this study, anyway. I’ve changed programs.”

The assassin turned her eyes back to the screen in front of her. “So, then. You can’t say for sure that the whole thing isn’t bullshit.”

“I can, though. The results have been published. There was measurable success.”

“Well, maybe all the other psychopaths were telling the scientists what they wanted to hear so they could stop having to do this boring shit.”

Claire shook her head in response. “No one is forcing you to participate in this study, ma’am.”

Villanelle drew back in horror. “Ma’am, Claire? _Ma’am?_ I’m pretty sure we’re the same age. I cannot believe you would ma’am me. It is very rude.”

The researcher sighed. “Ms. Stanakov, you should be done by now. Could we please just focus on the program?”

Villanelle served up another few seconds of stink eye before turning back to the computer reluctantly. After five minutes of silently following the cues on the screen, she pounded the space bar a final time and pronounced, “Done!” 

“Great, see you tomorrow,” Claire said, popping up from her seat without pausing and making a beeline for the door.

Villanelle rolled her eyes and moved to put her jacket on, then stopped short. Claire had left in such a hurry that she had neglected to bring her clipboard with her. Looking back over her shoulder to make sure the assistant wasn't coming back in, she snatched it up and started reading.

“Subject exhibits continued animosity towards exercises and expresses constant doubt that there will be any payoff. Subject has stated that she thinks study is a waste of time. In spite of this, her results are showing an increased awareness of the emotions of others.” 

Villanelle set the clipboard back down and smiled slightly. “OK, _ma’am_. You have persuaded me not to quit!” She lifted her chin in the air, squared her shoulders, and sauntered out the door.

************

Eve took her shirt off and winced, just as she did every time she looked at her nearly healed wound. It just looked ugly. The pain was basically gone, but time had not made the puckered flesh look any prettier, even after the stitches dissolved. The entrance wound on her back was harder to see but felt smoother when she touched it. Leave it to Villanelle to repay one scar with two.

She looked at herself in the mirror and thought: _this is what I will always see for the rest of my life_. This mark. Which, she realized suddenly, meant that every single day for the rest of her life, she would think about Villanelle. 

Every. Day.

Sighing, Eve dabbed some scar cream on her skin and pulled her shirt back on. She wondered if Villanelle saw her own stomach scar every day and thought of Eve. With … what emotion? Any? _I feel things when I’m with you._

It felt like something out of a Greek myth: two warriors, locked in an eternal fight, doomed to think about each other every day of their lives. Warriors with ambiguous feelings for one another. Would they kill each other, or sleep together, or both? She stared at herself somberly in the mirror for a moment, then started laughing. “Don’t be so dramatic,” she said out loud to her reflection. _This isn’t mythical. It's mental._

She grabbed her toothbrush and squeezed toothpaste on the bristles, going through the motions of her hygiene routine as her mind wandered far away. There were many days when she was surprised by the facts of her life: Niko was gone, she was recovering from a gunshot wound given to her by an international assassin who had proclaimed her love for Eve, and instead of working at MI5 she was working as a temp at an office where she mostly answered customer service questions. Oh, and she had also stabbed the assassin AND killed a man with an axe. Some days she almost forgot about that last part, which she counted a blessing. For some time she had worried she might think about it every waking minute; the sound the ax had made when she pulled it out of him. The splattering. 

No, on good days now, she made it to lunch or even dinner without thinking about killing Raymond. Eve sighed again, rinsed off her toothbrush, stuck it back in the cup and fixed a stray curl She never made it past changing her clothes without thinking of Villanelle. 

************

“So as you know, this was your last session of the study.”

“THANK GOD.” Villanelle yelled, and threw her whole body back in her chair.

Claire smiled slightly and pulled a sheet of paper off her clipboard. “And, I have your results, if you’re interested?”

“Yes please.”

“OK, so I know you have been concerned about whether you were making any progress.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure this has all been big a waste of time,” Villanelle sighed.

“Well, it hasn’t. In fact, you have shown the most improvement of anyone who has participated in the study.”

Villanelle widened her eyes and leaned forward in her seat, nodding at Claire to continue.

“You’ve improved in every area we measured--most significantly, in the area of understanding others’ emotions. If you continue with this training, there’s some suggestion that you might see some dramatic differences in the amount of empathy you experience.”

Surprised and pleased, Villanelle puffed her chest out, tipped her chin upward and stroked an imaginary goatee. “I see. And that is considered by most people to be … a good thing, yes? Not a weakness?”

Claire blinked at her dumbly for a moment and then turned her attention back to the clipboard. “We are only projecting as there has been no long term study done, but in time we are confident that you will be able to maintain reciprocating relationships with some degree of understanding others’ emotions rather than simply mirroring them.”

Villanelle immediately stopped goofing around and leaned forward in her seat. “Claire. You’re not just saying this to me because I’m a potentially dangerous person, are you?”

“No.”

“OK, well.” Villanelle looked genuinely surprised for a moment as she took in this news. “Thanks for everything, Claire.”

“My pleasure. We’ll send you a link to continue further training on your own.”

“Sounds great, Claire.” Villanelle arched an eyebrow and stared at the researcher for a second. “Do I detect a note of … relief?”

“I don’t think I’m giving off any indication of that.”

“Hmm. Well, maybe I am … putting myself in your shoes? I think I would be relieved to be done with me if I were you.”

Claire smiled. “See? Results!”

Villanelle smiled back. “I am sorry I doubted you. And that I have been a little bit of a dick to you.” She paused, then said stiffly, “Thank you, really. For spending this time with me and … putting up with me.”

The woman raised her eyebrows in surprise but didn’t vocalize it. “You’re welcome, Helena. Best of luck to you and to all your future pursuits.”

“My future pursuits.” Villanelle smirked and chuckled, then shot her a dazzling smile. “Thank you, Claire. Really and truly. I hope I get lucky with my future pursuits as well.” She popped out of her seat and practically skipped out of the room, leaving Claire alone with her clipboard and files. 

“I could probably do a study just on her,” she murmured, and wrote “Study Completed” on the outside of Helena Astankova’s file.

********

Eve unlocked her front door, dropping her heavy grocery bags just inside. She flipped the light switch on and sighed at the sight that greeted her. It was the plainest of apartments, with beige carpet and bare white walls, and it looked like she had just moved in even though she’d been living there for a couple of months. There were still boxes stacked along the edge of her living room which had become impromptu shelves for the random books she bought and had yet to read. She kicked off her shoes, picked up the bags of food, and headed for the kitchen. Frozen pizza and a bottle of wine for dinner tonight, and she was actually pretty excited about it. An actual meal instead of the bowl of cereal she usually resorted to.

She rounded the corner into the kitchen and stopped in her tracks. The light from the hallway barely illuminated a person sitting at her table. Old Eve might have screamed, might have been frozen in fear, might have bolted. This Eve reached over calmly and turned on the light.

Villanelle smiled at her warmly, looking very relaxed at Eve’s table in an unusually casual outfit of a t-shirt and jeans. Her feet were bare, her hair tied up in a messy bun. She broke eye contact to dig her fork into a giant piece of chocolate cake she was halfway through eating before shoveling in an enormous bite. Through a mouthful of cake she said cheerily, “Hi, Eve. Did you get us some wine?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to continue this story before season 3 hit, but then ... pandemic. So I guess this has morphed into a season 3 AU. Still trying to trick myself into writing more. Thanks for reading!


	3. Love Languages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of talking, a little kissing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this might be a bit long but didn't want to break into two chapters. Will write an epilogue to finish it off, hopefully soon after what I hope is a satisfying season finale??

Eve was struck speechless for a moment and could only blink dumbly at the sight before her. Villanelle seemed wholly untroubled by this response, and took another huge bite of cake. “How…how did you get in here?” Eve finally managed.

Villanelle looked disappointed with the question and shrugged. “How do I ever get into your place, Eve? I’ve managed it several times.”

“Several times? Are there some I don’t know about? I can only think of one time.”

Villanelle squinted at her and then widened her eyes innocently, nodding. “Oh. Yes. Just the one, you’re right!”

Eve rolled her eyes, then moved to carry her grocery bags past Villanelle to the fridge and started putting things away in silence.

“You are … just going to pretend I’m not here, then?” Villanelle stood up and moved to lean on the counter across from the other woman.

“I just need to put my perishables away, okay, and we can talk,” Eve replied, as she proceeded to shove a carton of eggs, a jug of milk, and a bag of grapes into her empty refrigerator.

Villanelle raised her eyebrows. “Please tell me you have bought some vegetables.” Eve stayed silent, moving to the next bag and pulling out an obscene stack of frozen dinners. “Not even _one_ vegetable, Eve?”

The older woman threw the meals into the freezer, leaned back down to pull a bottle of red wine from the bag, and turned to face Villanelle. Her face was unreadable, perfectly blank, until she raised an eyebrow. “Should I open this, or would you rather keep judging the stuff I got at the market?”

The Russian paused, as if seriously considering her choices, and smiled brightly. “Where do you keep your glasses?”

******************

  
They sat facing each other on the sofa, the only piece of furniture in the living room. It looked new, except for the faint wine stain on the cushion between them. Villanelle took a sip from her mug of wine and made an appreciative face. “Not too bad, Eve. I thought it might taste shitty.”

“I know how to pick my 10 pound wines, trust me.” The other woman took a long sip from her own mug, and it was then Villanelle noticed her hand trembled ever so slightly. Perhaps Eve was not as cool and calm as she seemed. Perhaps she was putting on a front. Perhaps she was … wondering if Villanelle was upset that she was still alive and had come to finish the job?

The assassin paused her train of thought. She leaned towards Eve and spoke earnestly. “You don’t have anything to worry about, Eve. I won’t try to hurt you again. Not ever.”

Eve scoffed.”Not _ever_? What about the next time you ask me to run off to Alaska and I say no?”

Villanelle clutched her chest as if wounded. “Ouch, Eve. That is kind of a low blow, don’t you think?” She set her mug down on the boxes serving as a coffee table. “Also, I will not be suggesting Alaska again. Way too cold. I don’t know what I was thinking, it would be like Russia, the Sequel. Gross.”

But Eve didn’t laugh -- she looked incredulous, and angry. “Villanelle, you fucking SHOT me! Are you even going to apologize?”

The blonde woman stared at her silently for a moment, then slowly reached across the space between them to drop her hand on top of Eve’s. She was pleased to see that Eve didn’t flinch. “Yes. Unlike you, I will apologize for almost killing you.” She looked down and smoothed her thumb across the back of Eve’s hand, back and forth; when she lifted her head back up her eyes were a little shiny from unshed tears. “I am not trying to make an excuse. But in that moment ...I had only one thought, that I needed to hurt you like you were hurting me. Like you had hurt me already. And in the past, I have only known one way to deal with the people who have hurt me.” She paused, and gave a quick pained smile. “Normally, just-- you know.” She mimed drawing a knife across her own throat with her free hand. “So when you didn’t do what I wanted you to do, I thought I would give you a scar like you gave me, and then I would forget about you.”

Eve pulled her hand away immediately, moving to clutch her mug as she took another long sip and stared at the empty wall across from her. “And did you?” Slowly she turned back to look at the younger woman. Her voice sounded strangled when she spoke again. “Forget about me?”

Villanelle shook her head. “No! No, Eve, and actually … if anything, it made me think _more_ about you. If you were OK. If you were healing. If you were going to try and get revenge. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” She paused, then corrected herself. “I can’t stop thinking about you.

Eve met her eyes for a long moment before busying herself with the task of pouring more wine into her mug. She held the bottle up and asked, “More?” Villanelle held her mug out so Eve could top her off. “Wait … why are you wearing a Yale shirt?”

Villanelle beamed, excited to be asked and relieved at the change of subject. “Well, Eve, this is where I was for six weeks.”

Eve looked confused. “You were in New Haven for six weeks? Why so long, were you assigned to kill the whole freshman class?”

The blonde gasped dramatically. “I killed no one there, Eve! I can be in a place without killing someone, you know.” She paused for effect. “I was participating in a scientific study, actually. A study about helping psychopaths become more empathetic.”

“You’re shitting me.” Eve looked completely shocked, her mouth hanging open.

Villanelle shook her head. “Why would I lie about this? It was a very boring time. I almost quit every day!”

“It just doesn’t sound like something you would do. And I wouldn’t say you’re the most trustworthy person I know. I can’t believe--”

Villanelle cut her off. “I don’t think that’s true, Eve. I think you trust me a lot more than most other people, actually. Because I don’t have hidden motives. I say what I am thinking. You know what I am and who I am.”

Eve took a deep breath, and whispered, “That’s what I _thought_ I knew about you, Villanelle.” She shook her head bitterly. “Until I found out you had a gun on you the whole time I was killing Raymond with a fucking axe.”

Touche. Villanelle looked down for a moment, trying to form her response. “That was a … mistake. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Eve narrowed her eyes. She was trying to tell if Villanelle was being sincere or merely mimicking sincerity. She did seem pretty genuine … but she was also one of the best actresses Eve had ever encountered in her life.

Villanelle scooted closer to Eve, but didn’t try to touch her. She looked directly into Eve’s eyes, and her words came out in a rush. “I am sorry that I made you kill Raymond. I was not thinking about how it was too much for you. I was only thinking about how it would get us to a cabin in Alaska.” She stopped speaking with her mouth and just looked at Eve, willing her eyes to communicate the rest.

“I … look, Eve.” She stopped, took a shaky breath. “When you said I didn’t know what love is, you weren’t wrong.”

“I’m sorry I said--”

“No, you were right, I haven’t experienced much love in my life.” Eve looked pained as Villanelle quickly moved on. “So what I do know about it is … limited. And when you showed up to save me from Aaron Peel, and then you killed Raymond for me--I thought... “ She trailed off and swallowed. “I read about the five love languages, one time, so I’m thinking, oh, I know this, these are acts of service. Eve is showing me she cares.”

“You read the love languages book?” The older woman raised an eyebrow.

“Well, no, I just googled what they were. There was a girl …” The Russian made a vague motion with her hand. “Anyway so I think, you loved me, with these acts of service.”

Eve looked somber for a moment and then snorted suddenly. “More like AXE of service, am I right?” She made a chopping motion and then laughed hysterically. Or--was she crying? Something in between.

“Eve, too soon!” But Villanelle was beaming at her. It was a positive sign that she could make a joke about it now. The blonde turned to take a large gulp of wine and set her mug down again. “The study I was part of, there is training to help me “attend to information outside my immediate goals.”” She framed her words with air quotes.

Eve stayed silent, her eyes roaming all over Villanelle’s face, still wondering if all of this could be trusted. Finally she spoke. “Information like what?”

Villanelle had clearly been thinking about this as she had a ready answer. “Like, you are your own person who should make her own decisions and I should not have manipulated your actions. I did not like it when Aaron Peel did it to me, and I was no different to you.”

The other woman blinked in surprise. “You learned all of this in six weeks?”

“No, that was just the study part. I’ve been doing the training every day since then.” Villanelle grinned suddenly. “They said I showed more progress than any other psychopath in the study.”

Eve smiled slightly. “I was told you should never tell a psychopath they’re a psychopath. It upsets them.”

Villanelle laughed. “Eve! Our first real chat. That was when I started to have feelings for you. You were so scared but so brave. And that stupid sweater shirt combo …”

This drew another small smile from Eve. They both sat silently for a moment, nursing their cups of wine, until Eve took a deep breath and spoke. “In the ruins, in Rome … you said, “We could be normal.” What did you mean?”

The Russian stared at her hands for a moment before raising her eyes to Eve. “I told you about it before, a little bit, about the life I wanted. A cool place to live, a job I enjoy, someone to watch movies with.” She paused, weighing her words. “I think I want … someone to come home to, to make dinner with, to argue about what color rug to buy. To throw a birthday party for. Just … normal.”

Eve nodded, thinking. “Do you really think you could be happy with that? You wouldn’t find it boring after a while?”

Villanelle shook her head immediately. “No,” she said forcefully. “I mean, I do not like being bored, and most people bore me.. But … with a certain kind of person, a person who I find interesting, someone who understands me, someone who keeps surprising me … I could not get bored of that.” She hesitated. “I thought--I still think--that you are that person for me.”

Eve took a sharp breath in, her eyes fixed on Villanelle’s. When she finally spoke, her voice wavered. “What … what makes you so sure of that?”

The blonde woman leaned forward suddenly and grabbed Eve’s hand with both of hers. She looked up at her, eyes teary.

“I know you didn’t believe me before, and I didn’t really prove it to you by what I did … but. I do love you, Eve.” She moved to cradle Eve’s hand tenderly in one palm as she ran her thumb over the knuckles. Slowly, as if afraid Eve might bolt, she raised the other woman’s hand up to her mouth and gently pressed her lips to it. Eve closed her eyes as the Villanelle brushed a few more kisses across her hand before opening it and kissing her palm. “I am trying … I want to be someone who can love you on your own terms. Not on my terms.”

The dark haired woman opened her eyes and then opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. She stared down at their hands for a long moment, then flipped her hand over to clutch Villanelle’s. Now there were tears threatening to spill from her eyes. “Villanelle. I have thought so much about this, and I have come to terms with the fact that I have feelings for you … but--I think maybe whatever we are together is toxic. I don’t think it’s healthy.”

Villanelle kept her face very still, not wanting to betray how deeply those words stung. She took a breath, and her voice was unsteady as she spoke. “But … how healthy has your life been without me, Eve? We haven’t actually been together. We’ve been dancing around each other, near each other. You are living in this terrible place eating shitty food and doing work you hate, without me.” She looked down at their joined hands. “This is the most we’ve ever touched each other, do you realize that? We haven’t even kissed. How do you know we would be toxic together?”

Eve sighed. None of this was untrue. She couldn’t argue that her life without Villanelle had been wonderful, but then … hadn’t everything she had been demolished by this beautiful assassin? Maybe there was nothing left to protect. And now this new part of the equation, that she was actively trying to change. Quietly, she said, “I guess … for you, I represent a chance at normal. For me … I thought I had normal. You disrupted the normal. The walls of my life have all fell down, all of them, and I am trying to figure out what to salvage.” She looked lost. “I’m... not sure of what I want anymore.”

The other woman nodded thoughtfully, her eyes intent on Eve’s. Carefully, she raised a hand to tuck a stray curl behind Eve’s ear, fingertips trailing down the side of her face. “I am still learning to understand why you feel that way.” She scooted a bit closer yet, so that their knees just touched. “But … I need someone to keep me grounded, and you need someone to challenge you, to keep you guessing. And neither one of us wants boring. I think it could be amazing.” She brought her other hand up to cradle the other woman’s face. “Eve. I think it’s worth a try,” she whispered.

Villanelle could tell Eve had been searching her face the entire conversation, looking for the lie. She knew that was a talent of Eve’s from their first dinner, when Villanelle had tearfully acted the part of the frightened girl forced into a violent life she wanted out of. And then Eve had known instantly what Villanelle was thinking when she found out about the hidden gun in those Roman ruins. And now? The older woman’s eyes were intent on hers, looking for some sign that she was being disingenuous, looking for any hint of deceit. But then … they dropped, down to her mouth and back up again.

Their faces were just inches apart, but Villanelle made no move to close the gap. She waited. She could wait. She could be patient, especially if Eve let her touch her like this sometimes. She could love her and not expect too much. She could love her and learn to be happy with holding hands. Maybe. And then slowly, slowly, Eve leaned forward and she felt the gentle press of Eve’s lips on hers. Her eyes fluttered shut and she willed herself to stay still. Which she did, until Eve ran her tongue across her bottom lip. Villanelle sighed and slid her hands into Eve’s hair to cradle her head, her lips parting beneath Eve’s. The kiss was searing and calming at the same time-- Villanelle felt warm, so warm, and also like this was where she lived now. _I will just kiss Eve forever and this is now my life._ And then Eve moved her kiss, trailed her mouth down to Villanelle’s neck, and the younger woman’s brain short-circuited. When Eve hit a particularly sensitive spot in the hollow of her neck with her tongue, she moaned softly, her arms sliding to Eve’s back to hold her more closely. The older woman hummed her approval into Villanelle’s skin, and then kissed her way back up to her mouth. After a few more deep kisses, Eve pulled away suddenly.

Villanelle opened her eyes slowly to witness Eve looking just as dazed as she felt. Still breathing heavily, the other woman opened her mouth to speak but when nothing came out she closed it again. Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes for a second, Eve tried again. “I … that was …”

“I know,” Villanelle nodded in agreement. She moved her hands back to her own lap but then reached out and grabbed one of Eve’s hands in her own, clutching it tightly. “Eve, we have wasted a lot of time with guns and knives when we could have been doing that.”

The other woman smiled. She cleared her throat. “You tried. I wasn’t ready.”

“That’s very true. I was always ready,” Villanelle murmured, moving her free hand up to touch Eve’s lips gently, then over to cup her cheek. “It has taken a lot of self-control, because you are a very sexy woman.”

Eve quirked her lips and shook her head slightly. “Wow. OK. I’m not really used to being told that. Especially not by someone who could have been a model if she hadn’t had a different … skillset.”

The Russian woman turned her head to the side. “Oh, so you think I am sexy too?”

The other woman looked at her like she was crazy. “Umm. I have eyes? So yes.”

Villanelle beamed, and raised an eyebrow cockily. “I think I am very sexy too but you have never said this to me, so just confirming.”

Eve laughed. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Now that you have told me before.”

“Won’t be the last time,” Eve sighed, and then she leaned in to capture Villanelle’s mouth with her own.

This time the kiss was less heated, more of a settling in. The only sound in the room were their sighs, small gasps, a groan and then -- “Wait, Eve, is your love language actually physical touch?”

“Oh my god, Villanelle. Please shut up right now.”

"Or quality time? This could count as quality time, we did a _lot_ of talking."

In response, Eve reached down and started undoing the buttons of her shirt.

"Ah--OK, Eve, I will shut up now."


	4. Epilogue - Look At Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being together will probably always feel like a surprise ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't mean to take so long to wrap this up. Just a fluffy bookend to a little fictitious escape from all that's going on in this crazy world ...

“Babe! Can you come help me with dinner?” There was a crash of pots from the direction of the kitchen, then the muffled sounds of a struggle. “I … underestimated how long it would take to chop all these vegetables and I still have to de-fat the chicken thighs. UGH.” Something that sounded like a stream of mumbled curse words followed, along with banging cupboards.

Villanelle smiled to herself, tapping away at her computer. “Yes!” she called back. “One minute, Eve. I just have to finish up my psychopath homework...” After another minute she closed her laptop and jumped up to go help her girlfriend. _My girlfriend_ , she repeated in her mind. _Eve Polastri is my girlfriend._ It was still new, only two months in, but even so she wondered if she would ever stop being surprised by how things had turned out. Who had a love story like theirs, with so many homicide attempts?

She bounced into the kitchen with a huge smile on her face to find Eve looking sweaty and overwhelmed, a huge pile of vegetables sitting on the island in front of her and little mound of raw chicken parts on the counter behind her. “Wowww, Eve. You want me to take the chicken? I know you hate that part and it does not gross me out as much.” Villanelle reached for a large knife from the block as she spoke and held it out questioningly. 

Eve opened her mouth to answer and then stopped abruptly, a strange look on her face. 

“What is it?” asked the younger woman.

“Nothing, really, it’s just -- I just realized that there was a time when you holding a knife in my kitchen was scary. _So_ scary, and ....”

Villanelle interrupted her with a leer. “And a little bit sexy too though, right?”

Eve rolled her eyes. “Yes, a little bit sexy, too. Not that I would have admitted that to myself. But now … now, you’re just here, and we’re making dinner together, and you’re offering to cut up the chicken because we’re … you’re my …” 

“Lover?” offered Villanelle helpfully.

Eve recoiled. “No, oh my god, I hate that word! I was going to say … partner. Significant other. Girlfriend? I’m bad at this,” she sighed. “The point is, everything has changed so much and yet, this feels like the most natural thing in the world.” She paused, reaching for the right words. “Sometimes it just hits me, is all. The difference between the past, and now.”

Villanelle laid the knife down and moved close to Eve, pushing a strand of hair out of her face before threading their fingers together. “I was just thinking the same thing, before I came in here,” she murmured. “I thought, ‘time to go help my girlfriend with dinner’ … and then I thought, ‘my girlfriend is Eve!’ And it felt like a surprise to me all over again.” Eve smiled at her, and took a step to close the little distance left between them. Villanelle leaned forward so their lips were barely touching and whispered, “I am thinking it will always feel like a surprise, and I love it,” before pressing closer and slowly kissing her. 

Eve felt like she was melting into a warm, glorious puddle. She wrapped her arms around Villanelle’s neck and deepened the kiss, pulling their bodies tightly together. Each kiss felt like its own separate story--an exploration, a demonstration, a benediction. Villanelle broke away from Eve’s mouth to move down to the hollow of her neck, as she also slipped a hand up Eve’s shirt to caress her bare skin, her fingers on their way to finding her breast. Eve exhaled her name shakily before grabbing the errant hand to still it. “There’s raw chicken one foot away from us, babe.” She leaned forward to kiss Villanelle’s chagrined face once more and stepped away. “We can’t get carried away before I get that into the oven.”

Villanelle pouted. “Boo, Eve. That chicken is very dead! She doesn’t care if we have sex in front of her.”

Eve laughed, the kind of whole body laugh of hers that Villanelle loved. “OK, but _I_ care if we have sex in front of the chicken! It’s oozing salmonella into the air as we speak.”

Villanelle leaned forward and stole another kiss before turning to pick up the knife. “You’re right. Salmonella is not very sexy. We can pick back up where we left off after dinner.” She arched an eyebrow seductively in Eve’s direction and let her eyes drift down Eve’s body appreciatively before she started cutting the meat. Eve watched her, lost in thought. 

“I think it will always feel like a surprise too,” Eve said softly. Villanelle looked up, her hands stilling as their eyes met. “But the biggest surprise is that we fit so well. After all of the … the chasing, and the murder attempts--”

“The bus kissing …” Villanelle interjected.

Eve nodded once in agreement. “The bus kissing. The weird gifts, the confusion. Well, _my_ confusion.”

“Mine too, though.” Villanelle looked wistful. “I was … confused about what loving you meant. Or what it meant to love someone,” she added.

Eve smiled mischievously. “I know, I have the gunshot wound to prove it.”

Villanelle cocked her head and squinted, smirking. “We can’t play scar wars here, Eve. I have the one you gave me too.”

“Oh, Scar Wars … I think I’ve seen that movie, is that the one with Yoda?”

Villanelle rolled her eyes at the pun and shook her head. “I know I am getting better at empathy because I am feeling very _very_ embarrassed for you right now.” Eve laughed, but Villanelle regarded her with faux seriousness. “Really, Eve, I could blush, I am so embarrassed for your terrible dad joke.” They grinned at each other, and then the younger woman turned back to her work.

Finally Eve spoke again, her voice full of emotion. “I’m so proud of you, Oksana.”

Villanelle raised her eyebrows. “Ohh, my birth name? You only use that when you’re being serious.”

“Well, I _am_ being serious. You’ve worked so hard and come so far and … and I loved you before, I would have loved you even if you hadn’t enrolled in that study. But seeing you put so much effort into this, for me, it just means so much to me. It makes me feel loved, and cared for, and … it’s just really special.” She swiped at a couple of tears with her sleeve. 

Villanelle smiled at her, almost shyly, before turning back to the cutting board. She focused for a few seconds on making quick work of the chicken, her knife work efficient and clean, before speaking. “That is good, Eve. Because I do love you, more than anything. And I know I did a terrible job of trying to tell you that in Rome, so … I wanted to knock one into the park this time.”

At that Eve closed the gap between them and slipped her hands around the younger woman’s waist, hugging her tightly from behind. “Knock it out of the park,” she murmured into Villanelle’s shoulder, her voice muffled by the fabric of villanelle’s shirt.

“Oh, is that what it is? Why would I want to knock it out of the park, what’s going on outside of the park?”

“It’s … sports. Baseball something. Don’t worry about it.” Eve leaned up and pressed a lingering kiss to the nape of her girlfriend’s neck, then another, and another. 

“Eve! Are you trying to start something up with me while I have salmonella hands AND a knife?”

Eve chuckled, leaning around to kiss her quickly on the cheek before spinning back to her vegetables. “Nope! You were just being too cute to resist.”

Villanelle smiled to herself as she seasoned the chicken and put it in the oven. She washed her hands and turned to wrap her arms around Eve’s waist and bury her face into her hair. She laughed suddenly, a quick burst of joy. “We remind me of that Paul Rudd meme, do you know it?” 

Eve shot her a quizzical look. “Remind me?”

“You know the one.” The Russian turned on her American accent and mimicked Paul Rudd’s expressions and inflection perfectly. “Look at us … Hey! Look at us.”

Eve smiled in recognition but paused a moment before responding, the words striking her as both funny and meaningful. “Who would have thought?”

“Not me!”

“Not me, either.” Eve choked out the words, her eyes teary as she fully turned around in Villanelle’s arms. She pressed up to kiss her, trying to communicate all she felt with lips and tongue. When she leaned back, Villanelle had teared up too, and they regarded each other in silence for a moment, speaking only with their eyes. Eve reached a hand up to cradle the other woman’s face, and smiled. “I thought being with you would mean losing everything. But what we’re building is so much better than what I had. I can’t believe I ever thought we brought out the worst in each other.”

Villanelle grinned. “I am right most of the time, Eve. But as amazing as I am I still did not guess how good this would be.”

Eve smiled back and ran her fingers lightly across the younger woman’s face. “That’s our relationship goal, then. Forever a surprise.”

Villanelle whispered the words back to her, and they held each other until the timer for the chicken brought them back to earth.

****

These words became theirs, and were engraved on the rings that came along eventually and the vows spoken over them; they were written into birthday cards and at the bottom of grocery lists; traced into skin and murmured into ears; sent as texts when they had to be apart. Once as an anniversary present only Villanelle could have crafted, they showed up on a billboard over a huge photo of Eve’s beautiful face. And they both agreed that when the time came, there could be no better epitaph for either of their gravestones. 


End file.
